


love is so short, forgetting is so long

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3693114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma allows herself to look, to truly look even if the world feels like spinning beneath her feet, even if her mind is cloudy all of a sudden – the brown curly mope of hair, the way she stands proud and tall. And the leather. Gosh, all the leather.<br/>So Emma knows, she knows simply by looking at the woman, and so the “Milah” in reply isn’t an answer.<br/>It’s a confirmation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is so short, forgetting is so long

The salty water burns through her lungs and throat as she coughs, all too aware of the cold sand beneath her hands and knees, of the gash on her cheek burning with salty water and the tangle of wet hair falling around her face. Just the idea of standing up makes Emma wince, sore muscles barely able to carry her, so she doesn’t dare moving, knowing David must not be far behind anyway. It is only a matter of minutes.

And indeed the soft sound of feet against sand comes to her after only a few minutes, followed by nervous voices she can barely make out against the wind. She recognizes her father’s of course – he was with her when she received the call, after all – growing closer with each step he takes until all she feels is the warmth of him around her as he hauls her to her feet and into his arms.

She shivers in his strong embrace, teeth clattering almost painfully, but still closes her eyes as comfort slips through her wet clothes. (She used to resent that, the obvious display of weakness, but she has come a long way, has learnt that she can let people in, can let people help.)

But as lovely as a fatherly hug can be, Emma is startled out of her thoughts by a small hiccup behind her, painful reminder of her surroundings. She lets go of David as she turns around to face the other woman, still lying down in the sand as she blinks against the dazzling sun. Her dark clothes are white with salt and out of this realm, but it’s not something Emma focuses on – realm-jumping, what else is new? No, instead, she just holds her hand out for the other woman to take, which she does after a moment of uncertainty.

“You okay?”

The woman is wary, not that Emma can blame her – she did almost drown because of some magical force, after all – but still nods in reply as she stands straighter in some semblance of dignity despite the hair sticking to her face and otherwise pitiful looks.

Emma is just about to offer to go somewhere warmer and maybe to see what is up with the whole situation – where she’s from, did she escape the curse – when her name is called behind her back by an all too familiar voice.

And maybe she would have dismissed the short gasp produced by the woman next to her, were it not for Killian stopping in his tracks when his eyes land on her. His face is drenched of its colours in an instant, eyes so wide all Emma sees is blue, and she worries – she’s never seen him that way, caught off guard and, may she add, scared. All his defences, so wrapped up in the smug pirate persona, are down, and she doesn’t know how to take it.

Until she does.

Until the woman next to her whispers a breathless, hesitant, “Killian?”

Emma allows herself to look, to truly look even if the world feels like spinning beneath her feet, even if her mind is cloudy all of a sudden – the brown curly mope of hair, the way she stands proud and tall. And the leather. Gosh, all the leather.

So Emma knows, she knows simply by looking at the woman, and so the “Milah” in reply isn’t an answer.

It’s a confirmation.

 

…

 

The journey to her apartment is an awkward one to say the least, made of shy glances and careful words. Emma doesn’t miss the way the woman’s – Milah, _gosh_ – hand found Killian’s with the ease of many years spent together, holding on to him like to life itself. The sight of it gnaws at her every time her eyes fall on their interlaced fingers as she tries not to be overcome by the unfamiliar prickle of jealousy.

(She’s come to rely on him, has come to believe him her own, no matter how selfish she sounds. She may share her parents and she may share her son, but Killian has always been hers only.)

(Truth is, she has no idea how to react. Because Emma Swan doesn’t share, but Emma Swan is used to having people taken away from her, too.)

So she leads the way through the (blissfully) empty streets of Storybrooke, lips pressed into a tight line and shoulders tensed as she ignores Killian’s stare digging holes in the back of her skull. She can’t allow herself to look at him, not now, not when his hand is still in Milah’s and David is next to them, not when her emotions are clearly not in check. She needs to calm down first, and to know the details as to how and why. That’s the priority, as she slips into the Savior-slash-sheriff persona and does her best to put behind her own feelings on the subject.

Once at the royal loft, Milah is given a towel and warm place next to the heating system. Emma’s stomach churns at the way Killian’s hand rub up and down the woman’s back as to bring the warmth back to her, mind flooded with memories of the exact same thing happening to her, there in that corner of the place she calls home.

Her eyes burn and it now longer is from the seawater, so she climbs up the stairs to change out of her wet clothes. She puts on another pair of pants and a t-shirt too big for her frame – Killian’s, of course, which only makes matter worse. But she forces herself to ignore it all as she pulls her hair up into a high ponytail and goes back downstairs for the questioning she can’t go without.

She needs to know if her town is threatened yet again.

She ignores Killian’s pleading look as she sits on the chair in front of Milah.

Emma allows herself to watch her, if only for a second. She is beautiful, that much is obvious. Beautiful in a way that reminds Emma of Neal, of Henry, and it does nothing to ease her feelings. Because even the most delicate of roses has thorns, and it isn’t just a pretty face in front of her. It is a pirate – it is the pirate who forged Captain Hook into who he is, and Emma can’t afford to ignore it.

“What happened?” is all she asks at first. Emma doesn’t have time for beating around the bush; she needs answers, and she needs them now.

Milah glances Killian’s way, and it is only when he nods, with a smile, that she agrees to talk. Their eyes only meet for a second, but it is enough for them to share a lengthy conversation – this isn’t helping, either. “I was on the Jolly Roger, at night. Killian was running some errands in town before we set sail again. The sea was calm and – and suddenly it wasn’t. I leaned over the railing to watch, but the wind got stronger and I felt.”

David puts a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “A portal? It doesn’t make sense.”

She pulls her cellphone out of her pocket in a matter of seconds, opening her contact list. “Belle will be thrilled to be on library duty once more, love,” Killian says. Emma doesn’t know what the worst part is – her own flinching at the nickname, or the way Milah looks up to him, surprise written on her every feature. Emma so doesn’t need that right now.

“Yeah, well, not like we have a choice.”

Not her better comeback, but she doesn’t dwell on it as she puts the phone to her ear and moves to the other side of the loft to get some kind of privacy for her phone call with the wife who survived. _God_.

It only takes a matter of minutes – and Belle doesn’t look too happy about it, join the club – before she comes back to the others, finger tapping on the phone as her mind starts racing.

“We should get you to Granny’s for the night. Better if Gold doesn’t see her,” nod towards Milah, “any time soon.”

“Gold?” she asks, frowning, before she turns to Killian again. “Rumple? He’s _here_?”

David sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

Emma agrees with the feeling.

 

…

 

They do tell her about Gold, and the dagger, and how Emma had absorbed its powers. How he no longer is the Dark One but is still powerful enough to be a threat, if he does feel so. Seeing his dead, run-away ex-wife would be enough of a trigger to make him a dangerous enemy once more, so they’d rather keep it low for now.

Thankfully, Milah understands, and doesn’t ask further questions.

Emma isn’t certain she has the answers, anyway.

 

…

 

Ruby shows them to their room, down the corridor and far enough from the main entrance. Her bright red lips are pursed as she hands the key to Killian, like she would rather shove it down his throat – Emma fights against a smile, because it wouldn’t be helping the matter at hands, but she appreciate the display of solidarity coming from the she-wolf.

“Breakfast at seven,” she says, voice as cold as her stare.

Killian thanks her even if he gets ignored, before looking above his shoulder to Milah. She’s inspecting the room, touching this or that trinket, and Emma almost wants to tell her not to take anything because the owners are werewolves and please can you not. She doesn’t – it wouldn’t be fair, and it wouldn’t be helping.

“Stay there for the night,” she tells Killian instead, ignores his pleading eyes. “Call me if there’s a problem but… Yeah.”

“Emma…”

“Not now – just… Not now, okay?”

He nods.

He doesn’t kiss her.

Emma is good at pretending it doesn’t affect her.

 

…

 

They meet at the loft the following day, which mostly consists of Mary Margaret (now up to date on the whole business) making coffee and opening a box of cookies and otherwise being overly _kind_ in the way only Snow White can be. Basically, they’re waiting for Belle to find something, or for Milah to remember a detail that would actually help.

They don’t have much luck, in any case.

Emma’s mood is slightly better now that she slept on it – though she will remain her prickly self as long as Milah’s long fingers remain wrapped around Killian’s wrist, probably. Still, she sees it. She sees how he could fall in love with her because – because she’s _nice_ , in a witty and sarcastic way, and she’s funny, and clever, and the kind of woman that puts Emma to shame on a good day. She used to despise those women, with their too-perfect lives and too-perfect personalities.

She can’t hate Milah. Because Killian loved – _loves_ her and she understands why and maybe Emma even sees herself in her. She knows the story, after all. Both burnt by love, both unable to be mothers, both letting Killian pull back their broken pieces. They’re day and night – blonde and soft curves where Milah is all dark and sharp angles – but in a ‘two sides of the same coin’ way, maybe. And Emma doesn’t know what to think of that.

She’s wrinkling her nose at her brother, sitting on her lap, as he plays with a strand of her hair, when the front door opens in a loud bang. Let it be known that the Evil Queen always liked to make an entrance.

Regina enters the loft, a smirk on her dark lips, as she takes in the woman sitting at the kitchen island, before her eyes lock with Emma’s. Her grin turns feral. “Now you know what it feels like.”

This isn’t fair – this so isn’t fair, and it hurts like a dagger to the heart, like a hundred sleeping curse. It hurts so much and Emma’s knuckles turn white as she holds on to the kitchen counter not to turn Regina into a toad, or a pile of dust. Her magic bubbles under her skin – she never was good at keeping her emotions in check, after all – even as she offers Regina an ironic smile of her own.

And perhaps she would offer a witty retort, too, were it not for the smallest body surging inside the room at the same moment. “Mom!”

Milah’s gasp at the sight of him is heartbreaking, a single syllable tumbling out of her mouth. “ _Bae_?”

Henry stops in his tracks and stares at the newcomer, that curious gaze of his taking her in. He frowns when he doesn’t recognize her, but doesn’t flinch as Milah stands up and moves closer to him until cupping his cheek delicately. She must know he isn’t her son, but the resemblance with Neal is too striking to be mere coincidence.

“Mom?” Henry says again, a hundred questions wrapped in one word.

“This… This is Milah.” She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. Curses her family tree, too. “She’s your grandmother.”

It is hard to tell which of the two is the most surprised, though Henry is of the excited type while Milah’s is more sadness and _hope_. Hope they will have to crush in a few seconds, as if the entire situation wasn’t already complicated enough as it was.

 

…

 

As with everything else with his life, Henry takes it in strides. Hell, he even makes it his mission to explain Milah everything that happened leading to where they are today, every curse and every adventure and every bad guy, pointing at the book and making large hand gestures. Even heartbroken over the death of her son, Milah smiles down at him as she listens intently, patting his dark curls with her fingers and caressing his cheek as they sit together at a booth at Granny’s.

(Emma laughs at the way her mother seethe with jealousy. It’s only fair.)

It is during one such moment, three days later, Henry explaining how Emma saved him from the sleeping curse and broke the Curse in the process, that Killian comes to her. With a hand on her arm, he nods to the back door of the diner, and she follows him without a word.

She misses him.

Which is why she falls into his arms the moment the door closes behind them, nose buried in the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, arms secured around his waist. He holds on to her just as tightly, and only then does it dawn on Emma that the situation must be as hard for him as it is for her. Even more so.

But he is the one to ask, “Are you all right?”

The selfless bastard.

“Are you?”

He inhales deeply, presses his cheek to her hair. “I hadn’t realised how much I was missing her until now. It is – unsettling, these feelings I thought I had gotten over when in fact they are stronger than ever.”

“You never forget your first love,” she replies, weakly.

“No. No, you indeed do not.”

They remain that way as silence settles around them, holding to the other like they’re afraid to let go. She is afraid to let go, to have him drifting away from her and never coming back. Emma doesn’t realise she’s shivering until Killian starts rubbing her back with gentle motions. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“I meant what I said.” He lets the words sink in, before he adds, “You are my happy ending, I believe it still.”

She inhales deeply – refuses to call the sound a gasp, because it would be acknowledging her abandonment issues and now isn’t the time – as she moves even closer into the warmth of his embrace. They can’t stay like this forever, yet Emma closes her eyes for a few seconds, lets herself enjoy this moment of relative peace before their problems come back to crush her again.

 

…

 

“He is different now.”

Emma looks up from the mushrooms she’s chopping, eyes growing wide as she takes in Milah in front of her. It is the first time since the beach that the other woman has directly talked to her – she usually reserves that privilege for Killian, of course, and sometimes David if they are lucky – and so Emma doesn’t bother concealing her surprise.

Her eyes dart to Killian, as he and Henry hunch over a huge book Belle gave them to study earlier that day, and she can’t hide the smile at that sight, both her men deep in thoughts as they whisper to each other.

“He’s different from when I met him, too.”

His rage was a vicious thing, his penchant for suicidal missions too – all for the woman he loved and lost, the woman standing in front of her now. Fate works in curious ways.

Milah grabs a knife and a bunch of carrots before she comes to stand next to Emma by the kitchen island, chopping the vegetables roughly, unevenly. Her movements are that of a woman used to cutting limbs, not food, and it catches Emma off guard. Even in modern clothes Milah borrowed from her wardrobe, a simply pair of jeans and dark sweater, it is hard to forget she’s a pirate, through and through.

“He was so young when he took me aboard the Jolly,” Milah goes on, like sharing stories about Killian is the most natural thing to do as they’re cooking dinner. “He was still grieving his brother, and I never thought he would get over Liam’s death.”

“He went on a centuries-old revenge quest for you,” Emma lets out before she can even think against it. She winces. “I never thought he would get over you, either.”

“But he did.” There is a tinge of sadness in Milah’s voice, as she adds, “He did, for you.”

As if sensing they are talking about him, Killian raises his head just then. He stares at Emma, then Milah, then Emma again, frowning in a silent question. Emma offers him a smile and discreet shake of the head as an answer; everything is fine, he doesn’t have to worry. And so he doesn’t, focusing back on the book in front of him as Henry points to a specific part.

“Emma, can I ask you something?” Milah asks after long minutes of silence, once all the veggies are chopped and ready to be cooked. Emma looks at the other woman, nods. “The girl from the library. Who is she?”

So Milah didn’t miss the way Belle kept staring at her – a very un-Belle reaction to begin with – and how everyone else was glancing between the two of them, as if waiting for something drastic to happen. It didn’t, of course, but Emma isn’t surprised that Milah notice something was off anyway. It would have been hard not to notice, truth be told.

“She’s…” She ponders on her word, before daring to says, “She’s the other you. She’s Gold’s ex-wife.”

“As in she no longer is his wife?”

“Yes.”

Milah pouts even so slightly as the words dawn on her. When she sighs, it is long and sad. “At least she got away alive. I didn’t have that privilege.”

 

…

 

It is yet another few days before they deem Storybrooke safe from the pirate who came back to life, and so for Milah to move out of her room at Granny’s. And no, it has nothing to do with Granny’s complains about how one pirate and a bunch of thieves was already too much as it was, and that adding another one to the lot was a stretch. Or the way she kept glaring Milah’s way while taking care of her cutlery.

(Sometimes, the woman has the delicacy of a rhinoceros.)

So Emma agrees that her place is good enough as long as the other woman doesn’t complain about sleeping on the couch, to which Milah replies that it is better than some other places where she slept – with a sharp glance towards Killian, who looked sheepish enough that Emma doesn’t ask further.

The couch it is, then, and Emma does her best to hide how relieved she is to finally have Killian back by her side. His presence has become such a vital part of her life, just as Henry’s or her parents’, that she doesn’t remember how she used to function without them, without him. Especially at night, the warmth of his chest against her back and arm around her waist keeping her grounded and chasing away whatever nightmare would dare disturbing her sleep.

Still, she didn’t expect things to be so… easy, with their unexpected new roommate. It probably has to do with the habit of living on a ship, and so of sharing little space with many people, because Milah fits right in from the moment she settles in the living room. Even the morning rush flows nicely, where it was always complicated when she was sharing the loft with her parents and brother.

Emma never thought she would say such a thing one day, for her who has always been so used to living alone, but she likes it. And she’s kinda going to miss Milah once they have found a solution to their problem, because she really is growing to love the woman.

“And so this idiot, right there,” Milah says between two hiccupped laughs, pointing at Killian with her fork. “This idiot decided to bet my entire jewellery box.”

Emma is laughing too, especially with how red Killian’s ears are – this may as well be her favourite part, all the embarrassing stories Milah has absolutely no problem sharing with her. Killian keeps deflecting by cooking some more pancakes for breakfast, which means they will be able to feed an army soon, as if turning his back to them would help hide how red with shame his ears and cheeks are. It doesn’t help at all.

“So what happened next?” Emma prompts, shoving an entire pancake in her mouth.

Killian glares at her; she replies with her sweetest, most innocent smile, careful not to open her mouth in the process.

“He lost, of course! Every single one of my necklaces and rings, gone!” Milah shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You can as well imagine my rage after that. Even more so when the crew agreed with me, telling their captain how bad form it was to bet someone else’s possessions. Wouldn’t hear the end of it until he bought me even more jewels that I already had.”

“ _Awww_ , what a gentleman,” Emma comments, lacing her voice with as much sarcasm as she can muster.

That makes Killian laugh, something between a chuckle and a snort as he shakes his head. He glares at one over his shoulder, and then at the other, but it has little to no effect when both of them are so openly teaming against him to laugh at his face.

“The crew always did favour you, sweetheart.”

The nickname doesn’t sting as much as it should, Emma notices. Nor does the way he stretches out his leg behind him to lightly kick Milah’s shin with the ease of a motion made many times, teasing and strangely domestic.

“Well, of course. I was more agreeable than you.”

He rolls his eyes as he comes to sit with them at the kitchen island, fingers brushing down Milah’s arm before he leans to plant a kiss on Emma’s cheek. That is strangely domestic, too – it comes naturally to him, and so Emma lets him do.

 

…

 

Emma wakes up one night to an empty bed and cold sheets, mind still foggy with sleep as her fingers reach for the spot where Killian no longer lies. Her mind switches to Savior mode in an instant, her reflexes fastest than her ability to fully wake up. But then she hears the soft whispers coming from the other side of the door, and so she relaxes against the pillows.

Only for a moment, thought, before her feet find the cold floor of her bedroom and lead her to the living room, quiet as a mouse. The door to the balcony is ajar, curtains moving lazily with the soft night breeze, and so she moves closer. Curiosity killed the cat, she knows, but it has always been one of her major flaws – the need to know, to understand. The need to spy, too, but that may come from her previous job, who knows.

“…can’t believe you would do that in my name,” comes Milah’s voice, soft as the wind yet sharp like the sword by her hip. “I would never ask that of you.”

There is a pause, and what as well may be a small intake of breath from Killian. “Do not tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me. You wouldn’t have killed him for me.”

“Three hundred years, Killian. _Three hundred_.”

“And I would have tried for three hundred more, were it not for–”

He stops then, the end of his sentence getting lost in the silent night. He doesn’t need to go on anyway, doesn’t need to explain why he no longer seeks revenge the way he used to, why he no longer is the cutthroat Captain Hook. So silence settles between them, heavy with things unsaid, truths untold, before Killian speaks again. His words are so quiet Emma barely understands them. “Please, stay with us.”

“I can’t. Belle explained it to me. It would disturb your timeline, and we can’t allow it to happen.”

“I can’t lose you again, sweetheart. I – not again.”

Emma’s heart clenches at the sob caught in Killian’s throat, the heartbreak in his voice. They all know they will need to find a solution to bring Milah back to her own realm and timeline – to her ultimate death. They can’t play with the story, no again, not after the Author. They can’t change the past once again, for the consequences would be too big. It is the only solution, no matter how painful.

“I know, my love,” Milah says, “I know…”

There is a sound then, and it takes Emma a few seconds to understand it is that of Milah pulling Killian towards her and into her embrace, of Killian’s forehead falling on her shoulder with a sob he no longer bothers concealing.

“You don’t need me anymore, my love,” she goes on, and Emma hears the tears in her voice, too. “You made a life for yourself here. A good one. You don’t need me to be happy, not anymore. But you need me to walk towards my fate, so I will lead you to her.”

Emma feels the telltale prickle at the corners of her eyes, and she looks up to the ceiling with a sigh, willing the tears not to come. It is hard, though, when her feelings are going on overdrive over the conversation happening a few feet away from her. Even now, even with Killian’s love for her written all over his face and in his eyes when he looks at her – even now, _you’re my happy ending_ is hard to believe. The cackling voice of Pan echo in her head, as her insecurities bubble back to the surface, as she realises that she is nothing but a lost girl, even after all this time.

So she sighs and licks her upper lip, swallowing down the tears.

“I miss you,” Killian says, and Emma pictures light eyes and curly sand hair, terrible jokes and a heavy leather jacket. The strand of leather feels heavy around her wrist. _I miss you, too_.

She tiptoes back to the bedroom, unable to hear more.

 

…

 

Their solution comes from the researches of Belle and knowledge of Blue – a portal not unlike the one Zelena had tried to created, only safer, less dangerous. A one-way ticket to the Enchanted Forest of old, when Snow White’s name didn’t ring any bell and the Dark One was only rising to power.

Emma holds the formula between trembling fingers, reading the words over and over again until knowing them by heart, then reading them some more. She can’t afford to screw this up and send Milah to another place, another time. She must open the portal at the exact same time Milah fell into the other one, so her absence won’t be noticed, so she can go on with her life as if the past two weeks never happened. And it never will have, for her, if the little bottle Milah is gripping between her fingers is anything to go by. Memory potion, to erase it all from her mind, not to play with her fate.

She hugs Belle goodbye first, both brunettes whispering to each other, Belle’s hands tight around Milah’s forearms. Words of reassurance, perhaps, of comfort and solidarity. Emma can’t begin to understand the pain they share, the pain only the other can understand. Belle nods, once, before she steps back with one last smile – Will is swift to take her in his arms, as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

Then come the goodbyes with the Charming, simple and a little cold perhaps. That is, until Henry throws himself at his grandma, the two of them almost toppling over with the strength of his hug. He holds on tight, one of his Henry-hugs in which he pours all his love and all his soul, and Milah replies in earnest, dropping a dozen kisses on the top of his head. When they break away, she caresses his cheek, much like the way she did the first time they meet, lips trembling into a weak smile.

When Milah turns towards her, Emma’s vision is blurry with tears of her own. She didn’t think she could get attached to someone in so little time, especially not when said someone is her boyfriend’s first love. And yet here she is, her heart breaking at the idea of Milah leaving them, of never sharing another laugh with her, another whisper that drives Killian mad with jealousy. Of never being able to talk with her, in the dead of the night – talk about love and power and freedom, of the weight of being a woman in a world ruled by men, of being strong in a world that wants them weak. Because Milah understands, more than anyone else, and Milah is leaving.

People are always living.

“I would demand you take care of him for me, but I know you will either way,” Milah says as she forces a smile on her lips. She nods to Henry, then, “Him, too. Learn from my mistakes, Emma.”

She nods, not trusting her voice at the moment. She nods and she opens her arms in an embrace Milah all too eagerly accepts. The hug tastes of goodbye and death, the most potent of combinations, and Emma never wants to let go. She’s supposed to give people their happy ending, not take it from them – everything about this moment feels wrong, every Savior atom of her body screaming for her to do something, anything. She can’t. She has to let go, eventually.

“Thank you,” Milah whispers to her ear, so low Emma barely makes up the words. “For making him happy where I couldn’t. Thank you so much.”

She can’t look away when Milah kisses Killian goodbye, when their lips meet as tears run down their cheeks, holding to the other like to life itself. Not everyone has the chance to say goodbye, but perhaps it is for the best, perhaps it is easier that way – Emma doesn’t know anymore.

All she knows is that Killian’s entire body shivers against her as she opens the portal, as she watches Milah downing the potion then jumping back to her life. The portal closes in a whoosh, and Killian’s tears wet her shoulder.

She looks up and inhales deeply, running her fingers through his hair.

He’ll be fine. They’ll all be, eventually.


End file.
